The Trespasser
by S. Yang Lau
Summary: Fifty years have passed since the spirits of the Thief King and the others finally lain to eternal rest. Everyone else has gone on with their lives, with some finding more stability and peace in the world than others. On his way home, a young white-haired boy chances upon the eerie and dusty 'R.P.G. Shop' owned by the even more peculiar old man simply named Ryou. Post-series.


**Author's Note: **Thank you for clicking on this fan fiction! I hope you enjoy it.

**Dislaimer:** I do not own Yugioh! ™. All rights belong to Kazuki Takahashi.

**Warnings:** There are no warnings, seeing that this is a rated K fic, and a friendship/ family themed one at that.

* * *

The young boy looked warily into the display window of the small shop, a look of mild curiosity gracing his features. He eyed the sign suspiciously; the peeling paint of the blocky 'R.P.G. Shop' sign overhead was certainly enough of an indication to move on homewards.

But he contemplated it for a moment. If he were to go home now, then that would mean facing his nagging mother again. And though the décor of the place he now stood in front of was almost archaic compared to the bright, holographic images of nearby signs that beckoned customers into the other stores, it did give a sense of attractive charm.

He decided to walk in.

There was no one in the shop. The child boldly walked deeper in then. All around him were what seemed to be models of any fantasy setting imaginable. Each was superbly detailed, with each miniature plastic tree or mountain painstakingly created. The only characteristic that differentiated the boards from exact miniature replicas of the most outlandish ideas of the creator's imagination was the finely etched grids that appeared over every one of them.

In each field were its own groups of characters made of small wooden figurines. The fields and characters covered practically every available square foot of the small shop, and though there was no dust on the merchandise, there were obviously no attempts to restore the pieces of art; characters and boards alike were chipping or faded in their once beautiful paint finishes.

The child curiously walked up to one of them and stared at the paint job that was put in for an ocean themed one nearby; the foam created by layers of carefully applied paint gave the impression of actually standing in the ocean, though time had faded the color from the many shades of blue to a solid gray. There was even a cross section model of a castle made of coral in the center of the ocean. Statuettes of people were placed about, seemingly in no particular order. He sneaked a peek at the name of the game, written on thick, yellowing bound pages of a manual beside the field: _Atlantis_. The boy snorted.

The youth strolled down the tiny path allotted between the piles of boards. After feasting his eyes on the details of a miniature dragon roosting on the corner of one of them, and nearly toppling the fragile piece over when he prodded a leathery wing, the child quickly stepped back and decided to explore the back of the shop.

He glanced around his surroundings again, and noticed a small staircase leading to an upper floor. He was about to venture up, when a display on a dusty shelf caught his eye. It sat adorned with a layer of dust on the farthest recesses of the cramped shop, and looked abandoned. He stood on his toes and craned his neck for a better look, leaning against a lower shelf, and only had time to register that it was unlabeled when a voice spoke:

"That set is not for sale, I'm afraid."

The boy cursed, startled, and almost lost his hold on the shelf he was holding onto. He scowled as he whirled around to face the person who had surprised him.

It was an old man. He was rather thin in build, and had been standing on the staircase. He had long, stark white hair that was tied loosely back with a rubber band, a mustache and goatee of the same snow-white shade, and also possessed a pair of soft, but worn brown eyes. These strangely serene eyes were magnified in the thick glasses he had perched on the bridge of his nose.

The elderly man appeared to have been struggling with a large box filled with assorted materials before he had acknowledged the boy. His shaking hands attempted to hold on to the heavy carton, which threatened to throw itself onto the linoleum floor from its sheer weight.

And it did fall, but whether it was by its own accord or not was debatable. It hit the floor, scattering its contents with exceptionally loud clatters when his eyes met the youngster.

The youth blinked as the man stumbled closer to him when their eyes met. Awkwardly stepping over the spilled supplies, the elderly gentleman hunched over the boy. His hands still shaking, his eyes still staring at him, the old man leaned in until he was close enough that the child felt the urge to pull his own head back.

"What's your problem, old man?" the boy snapped, quickly growing uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the elderly man's intent look.

The man studied him for a while longer, but finally stood straight, or as straight as an elderly man could. He began to talk softly to himself as he crouched down to pick up the contents of the box he had dropped, slowly placing them back into the box.

"Coincidence," the man muttered. "Simply a coincidence...Yes, that's it..."

The boy was too young to understand what 'coincidence' meant, but he took the aged man's words to mean holding the child responsible for dropping his supplies. "Hey, it's not my fault the box fell!" the boy grumbled defensively.

"No, no... It wasn't. It was me..." the man mumbled, more to himself than to the person he was supposed to be addressing. He feebly pushed the box onto a nearby counter, and the boy almost felt guilty for not bothering to offer help.

"You own this place, old man?" the young boy asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

"Yes," came the reply. The man shuffled over to the single wooden stool that stood beside the counter, and sat down, eyes once again on the boy.

'Great,' the child thought. 'Back to staring at me again.' He glared back, just to spite him. A smile twitched under the thin mustache the man wore, but other than that, he made no other move for conversation. Instead, he dug into the box he had brought down, and took out a small block of wood.

"What do you sell here, then?"

The old man blinked, looking up at him. "Is it not obvious?"

"All I see are a bunch of wood figures and boards."

"They are games, child."

The boy snorted. "You kidding me? In the last century maybe. People use _computers_ these days, old man." He made a face as he said the last part.

The owner's mustache twitched again as he took out a small tool set. "Then why did you come in?" The old man picked up a small chisel with trembling fingers, and carefully began carving away at the small piece of wood he had in his other hand.

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. I was bored."

The old man sat pensively for a moment, looking up from his work to lock eyes with the boy. "Do you like games?"

"I guess."

"Computer simulated games?"

The youth shrugged again. "Not really. They're lame. It's all brainless trash."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's all virtual reality games. Just a bunch of computer-made stuff. There's no point." The boy stopped when he realized what he was doing. Why was he chatting with a nosy guy that looked like he had one foot in the grave?

"Some like them because it adds a sense of actually being in the game," the elderly man said calmly, eyes going back to his work. "Is that not what makes the games so popular?" he wondered aloud as he carved away on the wood.

"Yeah right!" the boy scoffed, forgetting his question to himself. "They're turning the brains into mush. No one has to think anymore—they just use computers to do all the thinking for them. That's not real life."

"Is that right? So you enjoy games, but not computer ones."

"Why you wanna know?" the boy asked suspiciously.

"This is a shop for games, child. I am just asking for my customer's tastes."

"I'm not a customer," the youth snapped.

"Then are you a trespasser?" the man mused, tone mild. "If you had no intent on purchasing something, then you should not have entered, now should you have?"

"What's a 'trespasser'?"

"It is a person who does not belong in a certain area."

"Oh. Then no."

"'No'? 'No', you should not have entered?"

"'No', I'm not a trespasser. And in case you're thinking it, I don't steal stuff either." He paused. "Especially from old people."

The old man surprisingly chuckled at that. It was a series of soft wheezing gasps. The boy scowled. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing..." the man murmured, eyes going back to his work. "I'm just reminiscing on old memories..."

"Whatever." He frowned. "What are you making?" he asked, peering into the old man's hands.

"A character, child," the aged man answered, holding out his work for the boy to see.

"Well, _duh_," the boy snapped. "I meant '_why_'." He stretched his neck out for a better look at the unfinished piece, and could make out a faint body and the beginnings of head and hair.

"Well, then the question is, why are people created?"

"What? What kind of question is _that_?"

"For every new encounter, there are new beings you come across, child," the old man mumbled, whittling away. "Though they have existed before you met them, it is only until you are confronted with them that you acknowledge their existence. And that is when you decide to keep a memory or discard it."

"I don't get what you're saying, old man."

The man made another wheezing sound. "You will understand one day. All these figurines that you see belong in their respective worlds."

"So which one does that one belong to?"

The elderly man stopped at that question, and peered down at the boy over his spectacles. "That shall have to wait until the character is finished. It shall be decided only then."

The child frowned. "That makes no sense. Shouldn't you decide what character to make 'cause of the world? Wouldn't that be easier?"

"Life is not like that. Are people created to fit perfectly into the world they live in?"

"...No."

"Ah, then you see my point."

The boy scowled. There was silence in the shop for another few minutes, until the boy spoke again. "How do you play these games?" he asked, motioning to the stacks of boards around him.

The man glanced up. "They all follow a similar set of rules. They're actually not that complicated." There was another twitch of the mustache. "Though I assure you that they do require the use of your mind, since you find that an important quality for a game to have..."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Really?" His tone was skeptical.

"Yes..." the man trailed off. "But perhaps that can be explained a later time." He glanced up at a large clock with actual hands ticking away hanging on the wall. "I believe it is time for you to go home, child. Your family members will be worried if you stay out this long, will they not?"

The boy frowned. "I guess."

"I look forward to your next visit," the owner said, looking at the child straight in the eye. "It was quite a pleasure talking with you."

"I'm not planning to buy anything from here. So I won't be a customer next time either."

"That is alright. Your company is good enough." The man's eyes crinkled in amusement. "You do not appear to be a trespasser."

The boy grunted a good-bye, and headed towards the door. He was just about to push the glass door open, when he turned his head around. The old man was still hunched over, absorbed in his work.

"I'll see if I can come by tomorrow," the boy said loudly. "I can't make any promises, though." Without waiting for a reply, he left, and ran home.

His mother was quite annoyed at his late arrival, and demanded to know where he had been. The young man just answered 'talking with some old guy', and left it at that.

* * *

The boy stared up at the ceiling of the classroom in Domino Elementary School during the lunch break. Around him, children were playing with their handheld gaming devices, paying little attention to him or fellow classmates.

"He's a weird old man," the boy said to himself as he thoughtfully chewed away on the lunch his mother had made. "But I guess he's okay... It won't hurt to go into the shop again."

"I heard that Kaiba Corp's newest game is coming out next month!" a classmate said excitedly to his friends at a group of tables nearby. "This one is really, really cool! This time, they made it so that the computer tells you what exactly what choices you can make, so that way, you don't die right away when you make mistakes."

"For real? That's great, I hate making those choices!"

The boy rolled his eyes. "If the computer tells you to go jump off Kaiba Corp's roof, I bet these idiots would actually go do it," he muttered to himself.

"I'm back!" the boy called out, purposefully walking into 'R. P. G. Shop'. The old man was in the same place the boy had left him in, and had been reading the newspaper. He faintly waved a 'hello' to the visitor as he closed it with another hand, and motioned to a small, comfy stool next to him.

"Good afternoon."

"Yeah, whatever. You too." The boy dropped his bag beside the fore mentioned stool and sat down, swinging his legs back and forth under the plush cotton seat. "I have a question."

"I'm listening."

"What's..." the boy craned his neck over to spy on the name of the shop written over the sole window of the store. "What's R. P. G.?"

"It stands for 'role playing game'. That's what these games all are."

"'Role playing game'?" The boy didn't really understand what that meant. So he feigned understanding, and went on. "So finish what you were saying yesterday."

"Ah, right. About the rules, yes?"

The youth rolled his eyes. "No, the horror story about being trapped in a cave and being chased by skeletons."

The elderly man laughed. "I don't recall speaking about that one yesterday." Then his face became wistful. "Although I suppose I do know a story about that as well."

"Tell me that one later," the boy demanded. "I wanna know the rules."

The man grunted, and bent down below the counter to pick up the box he had been using yesterday. He took out the figurine he was making, and made a few more marks on it with his knife before saying anything else.

"You need at least a few players for the game, first of all. There is someone called the GM, or the game master, which tells the other players some details of the game. The characters are made individually by the players themselves, and whenever a player makes a decision, which may or may not be successful, the GM tells him or her if it worked based upon the statistics that the player created for the character."

"So you get to create your own character?"

"That's right."

"And you actually get to decide what to do in the game? And you don't know how everything works all the time? 'Cause these days, everything's always cut out with per-percen-"

"'Percentages,' you mean."

"Yeah, that."

"Yes. That's right. It all depends on yourself and your roll of the dice."

"That's pretty neat."

"That is what makes the game realistic, child." The man added a few furious scribbles to his figurine. "As you have mentioned before, virtual reality is the _farthest_ from actual reality as possible." The old man's eyes looked down at the boy's. "I found your statement very agreeable."

"Humph." The boy looked down at the counter, an embarrassed flush forming on his cheeks.

There was another comfortable silence in the shop for some time. The old man suddenly stopped working, and placed the figurine down on the counter top before turning to the silent boy next to him. "Would you like to play one of them?"

The boy's eyes widened, interested. "For real?"

"Yes. Here, help me with taking it out." The man got up from his seat, and picked up a nearby board. It was the one with the dragon on the side. The tips of the boy's ears turned red when the old man frowned at the dent in the dragon's leg.

"Hmm. Wonder how that happened..." The boy quickly took the board from him and set it on the counter.

"You should go clean all this stuff up, old man. All the paint on everything's peeling off."

"I suppose I should..." The elderly man sat back down on his seat. His mustache twitched. "After all, I have a visitor interested in them now."

"Yeah, yeah. Now how do you play this game?"

After spending an hour in the shop playing the game, the old man gently reminded him that he needed to go home. The youngster protested, pointing out that there was no school tomorrow anyway, so his mother wouldn't mind if he stayed a bit longer. Besides, he could always call her when he decided to leave.

The man shook his head. "Your mother would worry either way. No person wants to be away from his or her family for long."

The boy scowled. "Yours must be sick of you then." Then he made a face. "Where's your wife? And your kids or grandkids? Hey, how _old_ are you, anyway?"

"I am not married. Nor do I have any children." The elderly man paused. "And I shall be sixty eight soon."

"Then how would _you_ know about all that family stuff you were preaching about?"

"It was how I felt about my father."

"_Your_ father? He's gotta be _dead_ by now."

"I am sure he is. It is my regret that I never had much of a chance to converse with him like how I do with you."

"...That's sorta sad."

"It is quite alright." There was more silence. "And how old are you, child?"

"Oh, me? I'm ten."

"Then you only have ten more years until you become an adult. Then the chances of being with your family are cut drastically. You do not want that, do you?"

"...I don't know. My mom's really annoying. She's always yelling at me. I don't think she likes me a lot."

"To scold you mean that means she cares. If she did not, then she wouldn't talk to you, now would she?"

The boy grimaced. "You always have something to say to everything, don't you?"

"Indeed."

The boy sighed, but picked up his bag. "Alright. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Good-bye, child."

"Uh-huh."

After another two hours of playing during his next visit, the boy noticed that he had always been addressing the owner of the shop as 'old man'.

"What's your name, old m-, I mean- _whatever_. What's your name?"

The man looked up from one of the rulebooks he had been reading aloud. "Ryou."

The child made a face. "That's it? Is that your first name?"

"Yes."

"Then what's your last one?"

The aged man blinked. "It belonged to another. I am not at liberty to give it out as my own."

"...You're weird. So you want me to keep you calling you 'old man' or Ry-uh, Mr. Ryou?"

Ryou's mustache twitched. "Whatever you wish."

"Oh. Then I'll just keep you calling you 'old man'. You wanna know my name?"

"That is unnecessary. I am content with calling you 'child'," the man said.

"Cool! It'd be like speaking in code all the time!"

The elderly man smiled at that, and picked up the wooden figurine he always seemed to have handy, adding a few more carvings to it.

* * *

It was late one Monday morning, and the elderly man was working in the corner, fumbling with the damaged dragon in his small, frail hands. He did not look up when the boy entered the quaint store, and instead continued to do whatever he was doing.

"Hey, old man," the boy said loudly. "Isn't it rude not to at least say a 'hello' to people when they come in?"

The man looked up from his work to gaze upon the boy standing at the door. He nearly dropped the dragon when he saw the boy walking up to him, who suppressed a snicker. "Careful. I don't think that'll last another fall," the boy laughed.

The old man frowned, and ignored the youth's comment. "What are you doing here at this time of day? Shouldn't you be in school?"

The youth shrugged. "Yeah, but I just skipped."

"You _what_?"

"I didn't want to go, so I skipped," the boy said slowly. "It's boring there, anyway. I'd rather be here."

The man stood up abruptly from his stool, clenching the dragon in one hand and pointed a crooked finger of his free hand at the open door menacingly. "Get out."

"_What_? I came here to keep _you_ company!"

"_Get out_!" the old man thundered.

The boy made a loud frustrated noise and slammed the door closed noisily behind him. Ryou sighed, and sat down tiredly, shaking his head.

It was another few days before the boy entered again. Late in the afternoon, the sunlight was streaming through the now cleaned windows of the shop. The words 'R.P.G. Shop' created an elegant shadow on the merchandise that lay under the direct rays that flowed through.

"Hey", the boy greeted, tone slightly tense as he gently closed the door behind him.

The old man grunted a salutation, looking up from another newspaper. He peered at the boy through his glasses. "You're back." He glanced at the clock, and grunted again, apparently satisfied at the timing. After neatly folding the paper and placing it behind him, he beckoned the boy to come in with an insipid hand.

The boy drew up his stool, which was waiting patiently next to the old man, and plopped down on it.

"Sorry I skipped school to come here last time, alright?" the boy grumbled, keeping his eyes on the counter. "I was being stupid."

A knobby hand patted the top of his head in response. "Humph. As long as it doesn't happen again. You do understand the importance of school, do you?"

"Yeah, yeah. My mom's always yapping about it. Education, blah blah blah."

"You do not want to end up in this world without any resources, child. Education is important because of that reason. I do not want to see you in five or ten years committing crimes to make end's meet, you understand?"

The boy snorted. "I won't sink so low to start robbing or killing people, old man. Have some faith, would you?"

The man said nothing for a moment. "I know you wouldn't... I just do not want you to end up like _him_, that is all..."

"Like _who_?" the boy inquired, tone interested.

The elderly owner blinked and grumbled something to himself, taking out the always present figurine and scratching something on it. After a moment, the man nodded to himself, and placed it down. It still didn't look like much, though the boy could make out that there were many attempts to change the form. It was already smaller than all the other figurines, which were all identical in size.

"That's another story for another time," the old man muttered.

"Crotchety old geezer," the boy complained under his breath.

"I'll throw you right back out again."

"Sorry."

* * *

On his many later visits to 'R.P.G. Shop', besides playing the many games that were set out all over the store, the boy would assist in cleaning the place with the elderly owner. It was not long before he had tried his hand in all the games, and wiped down even more of the products.

"Hey, old man," the boy tapped the elderly man's shoulder, and pointed up at the single dusty board that lay on the shelf above them. "Why don't you clean that one?"

Ryou grumbled a sound of acknowledgment to the boy from his chiseling, and looked up at where he was pointing at.

"It is not finished," he answered simply, and went back to his work.

"Why?" the boy asked, drawing out the word. "Could I see that one? That's the only one I didn't get to play yet."

The old man made another low sound, this one of deep thought. "Do you not like the other games?"

The boy shrugged. "They're alright. They're loads better than computer ones..." He trailed off.

"Yet?"

"Yet- uh, but they're not really..." He scrunched his face in concentration. " Hmm, lemmee think..." The boy hemmed and hawed for a moment. "... They're not really my kind of thing. Yeah, that's it."

"And you think that _that_ one is your 'kind of thing' now?"

"I don't know. What's it about?"

"Life. Just like all the others." The aged owner drummed frail fingers against each other. "I suppose I can show you..."

"_Yes_!" The boy jumped up, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "Lemmee see, lemmee see!"

The man shook his head, amused, and took out a step ladder from behind the counter. He ascended it very slowly, a series of mixed emotions on the wrinkled face.

"Are you scared of heights?" the boy asked, observing the strange face the owner was making.

"Eh? No, no," the man reassured him. "Just thinking."

"More 'rem'iscing on old memories'?" the boy quoted helpfully.

"The word is _reminiscing_. And yes." He lifted the board with aged hands, and handed it to the outstretched arms of the boy next to him. The boy quickly placed it on the counter top, eager to see its components.

It was by far the most intricately designed board of all. There was a small cluster of buildings, most likely to denote a city. There was even a tiny island with a castle perched on it on the far side. He stared at the detail placed in the pyramids at another corner, rubbing the grains of sand glued onto the nearby area with a finger.

"What makes it unfinished? Looks done to me!" the boy exclaimed, doing another once-over. "Wow, this looks like real life! Where are the characters?" he asked excitedly. The man nodded, and picked up a small cardboard box on the shelf as well. He handed it to the boy, who immediately set it down next to the board and began rifling through it.

The boy picked up a model of a small boy dressed in a blue uniform. He was rather odd, with spiky multi-colored hair and a large pendant around his neck.

"Hey, he looks familiar..." The boy furrowed his eyebrows. "Isn't this Yuugi Mutou? That duelist guy from like fifty years ago or something?"

The man grunted, descending the ladder and gently placing it back under the counter.

The boy rummaged into the box again, and pulled out other figurines. There was a not-quite-exact double of Yuugi, though he was tanner and dressed rather strangely. Egyptian clothing, if his memories of history class served him well. There were a bunch of characters he did not recognize; a blond one with a rather sour expression on his face, a brunet with pointy hair and a similar grimace, a brunette with large blue eyes. He did recognize the one with long white hair and the bright red suit. "Pegasus J. Crawford. He's the guy that made Duel Monsters!" the boy exclaimed.

Putting that one aside, he pulled out the remaining ones; there were too many he couldn't recognize, but some did look vaguely familiar, such as the one of a frowning brown-haired boy with a miniature duel-disk—_was that what they were called?_— around one arm.

There were only two left. He held one in each hand, and noticed that they were more or less replicas of each other. Each had snowy white hair, and a golden ring hanging off a painted cord from the necks. The similarities ended there, though. One was pale and unthreatening looking with a tiny red curve of a mouth in a strangely forlorn expression. The other was dressed funny, with a long, billowing red cloak, and had gashes made from the sharp wood carving tools down his sunned face.

"Wow, these look like me!" he said, looking closely at one, then the other. The man was silent.

"Which one do you think resembles you more, child?"

The boy frowned. "I don't know. Neither is me, so I can't choose."

The man made a strange sound at that answer. He sat down on his stool to begin working on his figurine again. There was a strange expression on his face that the boy never quite saw on him before. It didn't look unhappy—in fact, it was more like the opposite, so the youth dismissed it.

The boy lined all the figures next to each other. There must have been over twenty characters in total. He noticed, though, that some of them stood out; nine of the characters had gold props—like the two Yuugi's with the exact inverted pyramid shaped pendant, and the white haired duo with the identical spiky rings.

He asked the old man about them. "They're the Millennium Items, child." The man handed him the manual. It was different than the other rule books—it was hand written, untitled, and much older looking.

"What's a Millennium Item?"

The owner sighed. "You'll read it."

"Wow," the boy whistled as he observed the elegant handwriting of the pages. "How long have you been working on _this_?"

"Over fifty years," the man muttered.

"Yeah, right." Ryou snorted at the dubious nature of the boy's reply, shaking his head with another frown on his face.

The boy flipped through the pages, a look of awe on his face. "Hey, it only says that there are seven Items. Why are there nine here?" he asked, pointing at the line.

"There are supposed to be seven," the man said. "But..." He sighed. "I cannot really explain."

The boy shrugged. "'The Millennium Ring belongs to Bakura, and senses the presence of the other Items'," he read slowly. "What does the last part mean?"

"It means that the Ring can tell if others like it are near."

"Oh, cool! Is the point of the game to get all of them or something?"

"_No_." The answer was forceful, and the old man almost looked angry at the suggestion.

"Okay, okay. Forget I said it..." the boy said sulkily. "Then what _is_ the goal of the game?"

"I didn't make one on its creation."

"What? There's no goal? How come you made a game without a goal?"

"It is not as simple as the other games in that I can _simply devise an end_ for it, child. Do you live your life knowing exactly what you are to be in the beginning either?"

"You always say stuff like that."

The man grunted. "I'm telling the truth, that's all."

The boy rested his chin against a propped arm. "I think finding the rest of the Items the point of the game would be cool. It'd be nice to have a Ring like that."

The man stiffened. "It isn't," he said loudly.

"Huh?"

"To own the Ring is a curse. Trust me... you would never want it."

"Oh. Okay."

The youth went back to reading out loud the rules, injecting his own comments and questions here and there. After a few more minutes, the boy frowned. He looked up at the old man, who sat crouched on his stool, shaping away on the wooden figurine he was always working on.

"This looks more like a script. There's no choices to make in this one."

"That is because they have already been made."

"What does _that_ mean?"

The aged owner didn't answer. The boy huffed angrily at the lack of response, and went back to reading. "'Pegasus' castle exists on an island, which is visited after learning of the presence of the Millennium Eye...'"

He glanced back at the castle on the board. "Hey! This is his castle, isn't it?" The boy raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said that the point of the game wasn't to get the Items."

"It was initially," the man admitted, looking up for a moment. "It isn't anymore."

"Oh."

The boy peered closely at the castle, and his eyes lit up when he finally recognized the city sprawled on the side nearest to him. "Hey! It's Domino City! That's Kaiba Corp, isn't it?" he questioned excitedly, jabbing a finger at the logo of a tall building. "And that's Domino High School!" He scanned the board for his elementary school, but couldn't find it. "Where's my school?"

"I didn't attend it, child, so I did not make a building of it."

"Whoa! This is _your_ game?" The boy gasped.

The aged man set down his tools. "They're all my games," he said vaguely.

"_You know what I mean_!" the boy cried. "This one is about your _life_!" he said dramatically, pointing an accusing finger at the owner.

Ryou sighed, and closed his eyes. "Yes. Yes, it is." His smile looked more like a grimace.

"But why did you make one of your life? You can't play it if you've lived it."

"I know."

"Then why?"

Ryou sighed again. "There are two reasons. One is that it is the one way I can retain all my memories." He smiled feebly. "Creating this made the bringing of the memories less painful. The other is that... I found my life comparable, if not _parallel_ to a game."

"... But why did you leave it up on the shelf for so long? You're still alive and kicking _now_..."

"That was because all of my troubles have ceased for over fifty years already. Is that not what makes a game eventful? For perilous journeys and ingenious schemes to take place at every corner?"

"Not always!" the boy argued. "This is your life we're talking about here! You can't just chuck your life to the side for fifty years...!"

"I could, and I have."

"But you _shouldn't have_! You can't tell me that you stopped living at eighteen! There's _got_ to have been another purpose in your life after that."

Ryou looked down at the counter. "My life revolved around one man for years. After he left, I believed I was left alone and useless for another half a century."

"...Do you miss him?"

The elderly man picked up the two white-haired figurines, studying them for a moment before setting them back down. "I do."

The boy blinked, taken back. "...Was he part of your family? Like me and my own mother? You want to be with him 'cause you're family?"

Ryou smiled. "I guess you could say that... He was always by me, even when I grew sick of his presence." He laughed dryly. "Odd how that happens." He looked at the boy with his soft brown eyes. "Do not worry. I am quite satisfied with this life."

"But you're saying your life had _no purpose_," the boy cried out in exasperation. "That can't be right!" He looked thoroughly discontented by this fact, and unable to voice out his feelings suitably, had begun to cry.

"Come now, child. Do not be upset." Ryou gently patted the boy's back. "Listen to me... You had misunderstood. I said that there was no point up '_til now_." He brushed the forming tears away from the corners of the child's eyes. "Here, hold out your hand."

The boy sniffled, but obeyed. The man pressed the wooden figure he had been making into the small palm. "There... you see? This character was added just recently into the game. _He_ became the purpose."

The boy rubbed away his tears. "It's me!" he exclaimed. Though unpainted, the boy could still recognize himself. The figurine had long hair, alike to neither of the already made white-haired figures, nor a mixture of either. He wore the Domino elementary school uniform, and even had the book bag that currently rested under the child's seat attached to his back.

"Yes. You made my life very purposeful these past few weeks. I was quite content with living my life in this dusty shop, and I was waiting to die... You changed that. You guided me to truth."

"I-I don't get it."

"There were so many similarities between you two. I almost thought you were him. You looked like him, child. Like Bakura." The aged man cradled the Bakura figurine in one hand, and its counterpart in the other. "And because of that, I realized you were like _me_." The man gave a weak attempt at a smile. "You cannot fathom the number of years I have lived thinking I was just an ill-made copy of him.

"At first, I thought he had come back as you, in the same way I had always believed that I had, but I later realized that it was impossible. That he had lain in eternal rest already, so that there was _no possible _way for him to have returned... That is why this took so long to complete." He touched the statuette in the boy's hands. "I waited 'til you visited to work on it, because without your presence, the wood would begin to form into Bakura's appearance."

"I-is Bakura the family member you miss?"

"Yes. I feared that one day, you might end up like him." The man looked sadly at the boy. "That's why I grew so angry when you came here instead of class..." He smiled. "But now I know _you are completely different from him_. _You are yourself, and yourself only_. _You always had been_. And that cleared my vision, child. I found closure... See? You did all of this."

He motioned a weak wave to the now beautiful shop. All the models were restored to perfection, without a single piece out of place. Sunlight flowed in through the bright window, and gave the once gloomy store a light that was almost inconceivable back when the boy had first ventured in those few weeks ago.

"Just like you, child, I am not a shell— not the figurine cast of a pre-existing being. _I finally realized I am my own person_."

* * *

**Author's Note:** A glass of water to you if you managed to make it this far!

I have to thank **love lawliet**, for clearing the muddy path of the boy's unrelated reincarnation.

And there might have been some confusion as to the identity of the boy, which a kind reader, **ani,** has pointed out to me: There is no re-incarnation. That was what made the point of the story valid; Ryou compared himself to the child—both looked like Bakura, and Ryou had always believed he himself was just the reincarnation of the Thief King, which is why he assumed the same for the boy. He realized that he was wrong, however, which allowed him to come to the conclusion that he, just like the boy, are individuals.

Please leave a comment on your way out. I would love to hear what you think.


End file.
